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Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wishes and Resolutions
“Happy Birthday, Riley.” Asia clinked her champagne glass with his. She wasn’t drunk in the least, even though she’d drained every glass someone had shoved at her. In retrospect, she should have been more cautious, because anyone who was sober would have realized she should have been passed out drunk after consuming as much as she had, yet she was still hanging onto Fiona’s keys and was nominated designated driver for the ladies.
“Happy New Year.” Riley’s blue eyes shone, and he finished off the champagne. “So, in the spirit of the new year, what vice are you going to give up? What new habit do you want to acquire?”
“What did you wish for when you blew out your candles?” Asia asked. Two could play at this game.
“I see you still have that whole quid pro quo thing going,” Riley said. “Fine. I will show you mine if you show me yours.”
“If I didn’t know you and how utterly sweet you are, I’d think you’d just made a dishonorable proposition,” Asia said. But she grinned. “This year, I am going to leave the past behind me.”
Riley blinked. “That’s all? That hardly seems much of a struggle.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Of course, knowing our cipher of a stunt girl, that’s got some deeper meaning to it, doesn’t it?” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Tell your Uncle Riley all about it, luv.”
“It just means that when I look at a man I’m not going to see a former love in his place, no matter how similar their faces appear,” Asia said.
“This former love break your heart?” Riley asked.
“No. He just died.” Asia nudged him lightly in the ribs. “What about you? What did you wish for?”
“True love,” Riley said promptly. “What else does a romantic actor wish for?”
(308 words)
“Happy New Year.” Riley’s blue eyes shone, and he finished off the champagne. “So, in the spirit of the new year, what vice are you going to give up? What new habit do you want to acquire?”
“What did you wish for when you blew out your candles?” Asia asked. Two could play at this game.
“I see you still have that whole quid pro quo thing going,” Riley said. “Fine. I will show you mine if you show me yours.”
“If I didn’t know you and how utterly sweet you are, I’d think you’d just made a dishonorable proposition,” Asia said. But she grinned. “This year, I am going to leave the past behind me.”
Riley blinked. “That’s all? That hardly seems much of a struggle.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “Of course, knowing our cipher of a stunt girl, that’s got some deeper meaning to it, doesn’t it?” He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Tell your Uncle Riley all about it, luv.”
“It just means that when I look at a man I’m not going to see a former love in his place, no matter how similar their faces appear,” Asia said.
“This former love break your heart?” Riley asked.
“No. He just died.” Asia nudged him lightly in the ribs. “What about you? What did you wish for?”
“True love,” Riley said promptly. “What else does a romantic actor wish for?”
(308 words)
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
This Year is Your Year
“So,” Keith said. He was sprawled on the cool tile of Angel’s fancy kitchen. He had a champagne flute in one hand and an empty bottle of Bushmills in the other. “What’s your new year’s resolution?”
DJ, who was stubbornly clinging to a bottle of absinthe, said, “To stop drinking alcohol.”
Tobias, whose head was nestled next to DJ’s knee, let out an ungainly laugh. “Yeah right.” He waved his bottle of vodka to emphasize his point.
“In that case,” Christian said, “you’re welcome to take this as paint thinner.” He plunked down his mason jar of moonshine next to DJ’s ear.
“The day you stop drinking alcohol,” Gabriel said, “is the day Keith stops setting things on fire for fun.” He paused, then waved his shot glass. “That’s probably a good new year’s resolution for you, Keith. Because Asia’s gonna crumple you into a ball and throw you down the Marianna Trench if you keep burning her stuff.”
“Why do we even bother writing new year’s resolutions?” Keith asked. “We’re gonna live forever. If we actually followed through with any of them, we’d be perfect in a century, easy.”
“You know what my new year’s resolution is?” Tobias asked. “To get Asia to kiss me. Just one more time. Before I die.”
“You make it sound like you’re going to die sometime this year,” Christian said.
“He will, if he manages to get within kissing distance of her,” Gabriel said. “That’s killing distance too, you know.”
“It’d be nice to kiss her again, though,” Christian conceded.
“Then we should make it a team effort,” DJ said. “This year, Tobias gets his kiss. Next year, we nominate someone else.”
“I like it,” Tobias said.
“That’s because this year is your year,” Keith said. “But - all right. I’m in.”
“Happy new year, Tobias,” DJ said.
In the other room, crowded with Angel’s supermodels, starlets, and assorted floozies, people were cheering.
Six men stared up at the kitchen ceiling and contemplated the coming year.
(332 words)
DJ, who was stubbornly clinging to a bottle of absinthe, said, “To stop drinking alcohol.”
Tobias, whose head was nestled next to DJ’s knee, let out an ungainly laugh. “Yeah right.” He waved his bottle of vodka to emphasize his point.
“In that case,” Christian said, “you’re welcome to take this as paint thinner.” He plunked down his mason jar of moonshine next to DJ’s ear.
“The day you stop drinking alcohol,” Gabriel said, “is the day Keith stops setting things on fire for fun.” He paused, then waved his shot glass. “That’s probably a good new year’s resolution for you, Keith. Because Asia’s gonna crumple you into a ball and throw you down the Marianna Trench if you keep burning her stuff.”
“Why do we even bother writing new year’s resolutions?” Keith asked. “We’re gonna live forever. If we actually followed through with any of them, we’d be perfect in a century, easy.”
“You know what my new year’s resolution is?” Tobias asked. “To get Asia to kiss me. Just one more time. Before I die.”
“You make it sound like you’re going to die sometime this year,” Christian said.
“He will, if he manages to get within kissing distance of her,” Gabriel said. “That’s killing distance too, you know.”
“It’d be nice to kiss her again, though,” Christian conceded.
“Then we should make it a team effort,” DJ said. “This year, Tobias gets his kiss. Next year, we nominate someone else.”
“I like it,” Tobias said.
“That’s because this year is your year,” Keith said. “But - all right. I’m in.”
“Happy new year, Tobias,” DJ said.
In the other room, crowded with Angel’s supermodels, starlets, and assorted floozies, people were cheering.
Six men stared up at the kitchen ceiling and contemplated the coming year.
(332 words)
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Not Again; Next Year Another
Not again, Scott had told himself. Not again.
But sitting beside his brother’s hospital bed, listening to the dull roar-hiss of the machines keeping him alive, made him crave the bitter-sweet shock of absinthe and sambuca all the more.
“He’ll be all right,” Joey said in a low voice.
“He’s the best out of the four of us,” Scott said. “Trained the hardest, fought the longest, made the highest belt - he only had two more ranks to go before he made black. But he always panicked in a skirmish, and --”
Joey squeezed his shoulder.
Scott fell silent.
“How long has it been?” Joey asked.
“Nine months,” Scott said. “Since I tasted even a drop. I told myself that this year I’d make it to the one year mark.”
“How was it going?”
“At the party last night I was Designated Dave and proud of it.” Scott stood up. “Here. This seat is yours. I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“You should put cigarettes down on your new year do nots,” Joey said, but he sank down into the orange plastic chair anyway. “You’re a singer.”
Scott reached into his jacket and felt for his battered pack of smokes. He still had a neat little silver hip flask, but these days more often than not it was filled with coffee or that freaky herbal tea of Clay’s that he pretended he hated.
Scott stepped out onto the small balcony and shivered in the winter air; he’d forgone his coat like a macho idiot. When the first hit of nicotine spiked in his veins, he sighed in relief. He’d given up the worse of the two vices. Next year he’d give up another.
(283 words)
But sitting beside his brother’s hospital bed, listening to the dull roar-hiss of the machines keeping him alive, made him crave the bitter-sweet shock of absinthe and sambuca all the more.
“He’ll be all right,” Joey said in a low voice.
“He’s the best out of the four of us,” Scott said. “Trained the hardest, fought the longest, made the highest belt - he only had two more ranks to go before he made black. But he always panicked in a skirmish, and --”
Joey squeezed his shoulder.
Scott fell silent.
“How long has it been?” Joey asked.
“Nine months,” Scott said. “Since I tasted even a drop. I told myself that this year I’d make it to the one year mark.”
“How was it going?”
“At the party last night I was Designated Dave and proud of it.” Scott stood up. “Here. This seat is yours. I’m going outside for a smoke.”
“You should put cigarettes down on your new year do nots,” Joey said, but he sank down into the orange plastic chair anyway. “You’re a singer.”
Scott reached into his jacket and felt for his battered pack of smokes. He still had a neat little silver hip flask, but these days more often than not it was filled with coffee or that freaky herbal tea of Clay’s that he pretended he hated.
Scott stepped out onto the small balcony and shivered in the winter air; he’d forgone his coat like a macho idiot. When the first hit of nicotine spiked in his veins, he sighed in relief. He’d given up the worse of the two vices. Next year he’d give up another.
(283 words)
Monday, December 21, 2009
I Will Not
This year, Bob told himself, I will not think of her.
He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the IV where it hung beside its bed. Through the plastic and translucent liquid, the world beyond was concave, as if he were looking through a fishbowl. Idly, he wondered if this was what it really looked like for fish or if they constantly suffered from double vision because their eyes were on either side of their head.
The squeak of wheels on linoleum roused him from his contemplation, and he turned. A nurse - unfamiliar, if young and pretty - wheeled in a tray of food. She smiled brightly at him.
“Hey there, happy new year! Is your family coming to visit?”
“I think they said they’d come by for dinner,” Bob said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fidgeted with the blankets. If she’d been older and motherly, he might have let the nurse fluff his pillows and fuss over him, but she was young enough and pretty enough that Bob blushed, if only a little. He missed being able to hide behind his hair.
“That’ll be nice.” The nurse smiled at him and set the tray in front of him.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Um...where’s Janice?”
“Home with her family,” the nurse said. “I’m low man on the totem pole, as it were, so I’m working the holiday. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
Bob felt his insides clench, but then he forced the sensation away. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
There. He’d done it. He’d said her name.
“You too. Enjoy your lunch!” And the nurse walked away.
Bob stared at the food for a long time, but he wasn’t hungry. He went back to looking at the IV bag.
(295 words)
He lay in his hospital bed and stared at the IV where it hung beside its bed. Through the plastic and translucent liquid, the world beyond was concave, as if he were looking through a fishbowl. Idly, he wondered if this was what it really looked like for fish or if they constantly suffered from double vision because their eyes were on either side of their head.
The squeak of wheels on linoleum roused him from his contemplation, and he turned. A nurse - unfamiliar, if young and pretty - wheeled in a tray of food. She smiled brightly at him.
“Hey there, happy new year! Is your family coming to visit?”
“I think they said they’d come by for dinner,” Bob said. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and fidgeted with the blankets. If she’d been older and motherly, he might have let the nurse fluff his pillows and fuss over him, but she was young enough and pretty enough that Bob blushed, if only a little. He missed being able to hide behind his hair.
“That’ll be nice.” The nurse smiled at him and set the tray in front of him.
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Um...where’s Janice?”
“Home with her family,” the nurse said. “I’m low man on the totem pole, as it were, so I’m working the holiday. I’m Caroline, by the way.”
Bob felt his insides clench, but then he forced the sensation away. “It’s nice to meet you, Caroline.”
There. He’d done it. He’d said her name.
“You too. Enjoy your lunch!” And the nurse walked away.
Bob stared at the food for a long time, but he wasn’t hungry. He went back to looking at the IV bag.
(295 words)
No More Drama
"I hereby resolve to not get involved with anyone this year!" Bryan exclaimed, his eyes bright from the sugar coursing through his system.
Mark snorted quietly into his own cup of Pepsi, "Yeah right Bry," he said as he turned to survey the room. It was crowded, bodies packed into the small space, the badly hung crepe not hiding the fact that it was a smelly old gym at a small school.
"I mean it!" Bryan said loudly, "I am through with girls, They are nothing but trouble, and drama, and enormous pests."
Mark looked his twin in the eye, "Bryan, if I know you at all, which I do, then you will fall for the next girl that you kiss. The only way to keep your resolution is to not kiss anyone. And I don't think that you can do that."
"Sure I can."
Mark shook his head, "You mean you won't kiss anyone tonight on the stroke of midnight?"
"Nope."
"Well, I guess we will see in about ten minutes if you can keep your promise. I bet you ten bucks that you can't keep from kissing anyone."
"Your on Bro."
3...
2...
1...
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"
...."I knew you couldn't do it."
Mark snorted quietly into his own cup of Pepsi, "Yeah right Bry," he said as he turned to survey the room. It was crowded, bodies packed into the small space, the badly hung crepe not hiding the fact that it was a smelly old gym at a small school.
"I mean it!" Bryan said loudly, "I am through with girls, They are nothing but trouble, and drama, and enormous pests."
Mark looked his twin in the eye, "Bryan, if I know you at all, which I do, then you will fall for the next girl that you kiss. The only way to keep your resolution is to not kiss anyone. And I don't think that you can do that."
"Sure I can."
Mark shook his head, "You mean you won't kiss anyone tonight on the stroke of midnight?"
"Nope."
"Well, I guess we will see in about ten minutes if you can keep your promise. I bet you ten bucks that you can't keep from kissing anyone."
"Your on Bro."
3...
2...
1...
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!"
...."I knew you couldn't do it."
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Project #53: Resolutions
It's not the new year yet, but there's no harm in thinking ahead. What do you characters choose as a new year's resolution? How good are they at keeping it? What do their friends say about it? Why do they choose to make a certain resolution? You have 100-400 words to show how your characters are resolved. Write on!
Overview #52: Finals
I did my best not to do conventional final exams. I went with some conventional ones, obviously, as with Bob and Dan, but I tried to take them from unconventional angles, where Dan's is during the homeschool days and Bob's is during his brief stint in high school. When it came to the other characters, I had a much harder time thinking up finals that were obvious. Since Sector Five is all about the wetwork, kills as finals was the obvious choice, and I didn't want to do that. I know that sometimes an actual production is the final for a number of theatre courses, and I'm still working James out in my head, so I figured I'd throw some of that in there.
As for Angel - well, a friend sent me the video, and it stuck with me, and I knew I had to do something with it. So I did. Because Angel has technically already made Operations agent already, so he needed a new test.
I am both proud and disappointed in John's entry, partially because it was so much exposition and so little story, but in the end it solved a lot of things about Carolyn, and that made me happy.
As for Angel - well, a friend sent me the video, and it stuck with me, and I knew I had to do something with it. So I did. Because Angel has technically already made Operations agent already, so he needed a new test.
I am both proud and disappointed in John's entry, partially because it was so much exposition and so little story, but in the end it solved a lot of things about Carolyn, and that made me happy.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Prove Yourself
“I think this qualifies as a test in humiliation,” Rastaban said.
Dakshana stood in the wings of the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “This will prove your ultimate dedication to the cause, won’t it?”
“And what, exactly, did you have to do to prove yourself?” Rastaban asked.
Dakshana’s eyes were opaque, although the corners of her mouth were curved up in the faintest traces of amusement. “It might have involved kissing you.”
Rastaban, who’d been frowning down at the ridiculousness of his performance costume, lifted his head sharply. “What? I couldn’t have been that horrible a kisser -”
Dakshana reached up and straightened his headdress. “Do you know who I was before I dealt with you?” She leaned in and whispered, her breath against his ear sending shivers down his spine. “I was a queen and a goddess, a mother and a daughter, a wife and a sister, a priestess and a whore. I was everything a woman could be and had been, and it was all my choice. And then you came along - this bumbling, blustering, arrogant strip of a boy who fancied himself man enough to lead an army. And I had to pretend you were worth kissing.”
Icy shock shot down Rastaban’s spine. He sucked in a deep breath. “Dakshana -”
“Or maybe what I had to do is none of your business and you’ll never know and given how easy it is to yank your chain, maybe you don’t deserve to earn field command.” Dakshana shoved him toward the makeshift curtain. “Now get out there and dance.”
Dakshana stood in the wings of the stage, arms crossed over her chest. “This will prove your ultimate dedication to the cause, won’t it?”
“And what, exactly, did you have to do to prove yourself?” Rastaban asked.
Dakshana’s eyes were opaque, although the corners of her mouth were curved up in the faintest traces of amusement. “It might have involved kissing you.”
Rastaban, who’d been frowning down at the ridiculousness of his performance costume, lifted his head sharply. “What? I couldn’t have been that horrible a kisser -”
Dakshana reached up and straightened his headdress. “Do you know who I was before I dealt with you?” She leaned in and whispered, her breath against his ear sending shivers down his spine. “I was a queen and a goddess, a mother and a daughter, a wife and a sister, a priestess and a whore. I was everything a woman could be and had been, and it was all my choice. And then you came along - this bumbling, blustering, arrogant strip of a boy who fancied himself man enough to lead an army. And I had to pretend you were worth kissing.”
Icy shock shot down Rastaban’s spine. He sucked in a deep breath. “Dakshana -”
“Or maybe what I had to do is none of your business and you’ll never know and given how easy it is to yank your chain, maybe you don’t deserve to earn field command.” Dakshana shoved him toward the makeshift curtain. “Now get out there and dance.”
Friday, December 18, 2009
Just a Bit Pathetic
“Are you scared?” James asked.
Tobias lifted his head, straightened his crown of oak leaves absently. “Why would I be scared?”
“Our entire semester rides on this one performance.” James tugged impatiently at his sword-belt. “I still look like an idiot with a sword at my side. How did anyone back then get around without banging into everything?”
Tobias reached out and used the loose end of James’s belt to hitch the sword up to a neater angle. “There. Now you won’t accidentally kneecap your lovely Hermia.”
James blinked. He tugged at the sword hilt experimentally, then grinned at his roommate. “You’re full of random useful skills. Thanks.”
“Yes, well, even though I’m not afraid, I don’t want to fail this class either.” He straightened his green tunic. “It’d be pathetic if I failed my Shakespeare course at a British drama academy, wouldn’t it?”
“Just a bit pathetic,” James agreed. “Is your family coming to watch?”
“No,” Tobias said. “Uncle Angel is on business, DJ’s on the runways in Paris or something stupid. Everyone else has jobs and things - I’m the only idiot who’s still in school.”
James slung an arm around his shoulders. “Well, my parents are here, and I’m sure my mum would love to coo over how pale and underfed you look.”
Tobias laughed but, for the first time, didn’t shrug him off. “I’m only underfed because you keep stealing my food.”
One of the directors came over and hissed at them, “Curtain in three. Take your marks.”
“Good luck, Puck,” James said, and started for the wings.
Tobias grinned. “Break a leg, Lysander.”
Beyond the curtain, the audience went quiet.
(275 words)
Tobias lifted his head, straightened his crown of oak leaves absently. “Why would I be scared?”
“Our entire semester rides on this one performance.” James tugged impatiently at his sword-belt. “I still look like an idiot with a sword at my side. How did anyone back then get around without banging into everything?”
Tobias reached out and used the loose end of James’s belt to hitch the sword up to a neater angle. “There. Now you won’t accidentally kneecap your lovely Hermia.”
James blinked. He tugged at the sword hilt experimentally, then grinned at his roommate. “You’re full of random useful skills. Thanks.”
“Yes, well, even though I’m not afraid, I don’t want to fail this class either.” He straightened his green tunic. “It’d be pathetic if I failed my Shakespeare course at a British drama academy, wouldn’t it?”
“Just a bit pathetic,” James agreed. “Is your family coming to watch?”
“No,” Tobias said. “Uncle Angel is on business, DJ’s on the runways in Paris or something stupid. Everyone else has jobs and things - I’m the only idiot who’s still in school.”
James slung an arm around his shoulders. “Well, my parents are here, and I’m sure my mum would love to coo over how pale and underfed you look.”
Tobias laughed but, for the first time, didn’t shrug him off. “I’m only underfed because you keep stealing my food.”
One of the directors came over and hissed at them, “Curtain in three. Take your marks.”
“Good luck, Puck,” James said, and started for the wings.
Tobias grinned. “Break a leg, Lysander.”
Beyond the curtain, the audience went quiet.
(275 words)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Successful Replacement
“This is it, your big test. If you make it through tonight, you’re ready,” Chase said.
Jade nodded, wiped his clammy hands on his palms. “Okay. But I think Chris is getting a little...suspicious. He keeps looking at me funny, and I think I’ve been missing out on some of his inside jokes.”
“Look, just nail the performance tonight. Chris gets on edge because he’s Chris. And...he feels guilty. For making Justin fall down the stairs.” Chase smiled gently, smoothed a hand over Jade’s curls.
Jade scowled and knocked his hand aside. “I’m not a poodle. Don’t pet me.”
Something unreadable flickered in Chase’s eyes, but he let his hand fall to his side. “Oui. Je suis desolé.”
“Sorry,” Jade said. He knew it was bad when Chase kicked back into French. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just - nervous.”
Joe chose that moment to poke his head into the dressing room. “C’mon, Mouseketeers, we gotta show Germany how we rock it.”
Jade bounced to his feet and gave Joe a high-five. “All right. Let’s rock this joint!”
And rock the joint they did. Jade knew he hit every mark like clockwork, that every smile and every wink for the girls in the front row was perfect, because after the last encore the curtain fell and Chris swooped him into a hug and gave him a noogie.
The affection in Chris’s eyes was genuine for the first time in the three weeks Jade had been living with them, and the jubilation of success was tainted with the guilt of dishonesty. Jade had finally replaced Justin, and no one would ever be the wiser.
(276 words)
Jade nodded, wiped his clammy hands on his palms. “Okay. But I think Chris is getting a little...suspicious. He keeps looking at me funny, and I think I’ve been missing out on some of his inside jokes.”
“Look, just nail the performance tonight. Chris gets on edge because he’s Chris. And...he feels guilty. For making Justin fall down the stairs.” Chase smiled gently, smoothed a hand over Jade’s curls.
Jade scowled and knocked his hand aside. “I’m not a poodle. Don’t pet me.”
Something unreadable flickered in Chase’s eyes, but he let his hand fall to his side. “Oui. Je suis desolé.”
“Sorry,” Jade said. He knew it was bad when Chase kicked back into French. “I didn’t mean to snap. I’m just - nervous.”
Joe chose that moment to poke his head into the dressing room. “C’mon, Mouseketeers, we gotta show Germany how we rock it.”
Jade bounced to his feet and gave Joe a high-five. “All right. Let’s rock this joint!”
And rock the joint they did. Jade knew he hit every mark like clockwork, that every smile and every wink for the girls in the front row was perfect, because after the last encore the curtain fell and Chris swooped him into a hug and gave him a noogie.
The affection in Chris’s eyes was genuine for the first time in the three weeks Jade had been living with them, and the jubilation of success was tainted with the guilt of dishonesty. Jade had finally replaced Justin, and no one would ever be the wiser.
(276 words)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
His Last Test
“You think you have what it takes to be a field handler?” The Colonel asked.
John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”
The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”
John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.
John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.
The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.
John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.
John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.
Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.
(323 words)
John inclined his head deferentially. “Yes sir.”
The Colonel shoved a manila folder at him. “Then prove it. Go get yourself a field agent.”
John opened the file and scanned the specs - an orphanage in Iran. No one would notice a girl go missing; girls were second-class commodities there. He closed the file and nodded, saluted once, then waited till he was dismissed.
John was never one to procrastinate, so he booked a flight as soon as he got back to his bunk in the barracks. He spent the entire flight over finagling out the details - forging passports and birth certificates, drafting an entire history for a non-existent child. As soon as John had made it out of basic and been shuttled into officer training, he’d learned about what was keeping the brass on its toes, the mysterious conundrum of The Carrier. He hadn’t wanted anything to do with it.
Apparently, his last test to prove his fitness as a field officer, was to throw himself in the middle of it.
The orphanage was on the poorer side of town. He’d considered trying to blend in as a local, but the sad truth was that no one would think twice of a foreign man purchasing a local child.
John spent seventy-two hours observing the children who shuffled in and out of the ramshackle building before he found a suitable one. The orphanage matrons called her Kalila. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, but John saw fierce intelligence in her bright green eyes. None of the matrons thought it at all significant that little Kalila could read.
John took another two hours to finish forging out his documents for his new daughter - Carolyn - and then he made his move.
Two days later he was a ranked field officer, and he was a father.
(323 words)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Exactly the Same
I don't know how the two of you did it!" Mrs. Marsh said in exasperation. "Both of you got the exact same score, and the exact questions wrong, but you were both sitting on opposite ends of the room. How did you do it?"
Mark and Bryan looked at each other and then back at their calculus teacher, "well, we are twins," Bryan said, but swallowed the rest of his statement when she shot his a glare.
"Mrs. Marsh," Mark spoke up softly, "the most simple answer is that we study together, so what one of us know, the other also knows. We drill and drill, if we didn't get it right it's because we didn't study that hard enough. Simple as that," Mark finished just as softly as he had started.
Mrs. Marsh looked from Bryan's smiling face to Mark's quietly composed face, shrugged and shooed them out the door.
Mark and Bryan looked at each other and then back at their calculus teacher, "well, we are twins," Bryan said, but swallowed the rest of his statement when she shot his a glare.
"Mrs. Marsh," Mark spoke up softly, "the most simple answer is that we study together, so what one of us know, the other also knows. We drill and drill, if we didn't get it right it's because we didn't study that hard enough. Simple as that," Mark finished just as softly as he had started.
Mrs. Marsh looked from Bryan's smiling face to Mark's quietly composed face, shrugged and shooed them out the door.
Under Pressure
“You ready for these?” Kyle asked.
Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”
Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”
“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.
Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”
“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.
Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”
Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”
A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”
“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.
The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”
Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.
(289 words)
Bob blinked and looked up from his notes. “Pardon?”
Kyle twirled his pen; it was a nervous gesture, one Bob had seen him perform many times before, usually when he was talking to that girl Mary. “The exams. You know? I’m kinda scared. All the pressure.”
“Oh.” The exams. Pressure. College. Bob supposed he should have been frightened, but he wasn’t really planning on going to college. He didn’t think it would be socially appropriate, as Carolyn always put it, to inform Kyle that he had the money to go to college three times over without going into even a smidgeon of debt. “I guess the pressure is, er, bad.” For him, pressure was not screwing up a gig at an award show on national television.
Kyle arched one eyebrow. “You don’t seem that nervous.” He craned his neck to peer at Bob’s notes. “You must have studied pretty hard, then, huh?”
“I studied as hard as I could,” Bob said.
Mary paused by Bob’s desk. “Ready for this, rock star?”
Bob hated it when people called him that. “As ready as I can be.”
A sour expression marred Kyle’s nervous grin. “Right. I forgot who you are. After performing in front of thousands of screaming fans, a little test is probably nothing for you.”
“Depends on the type of test,” Bob said. He remembered sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for the test results after his last round of chemotherapy.
The teacher burst into the room. “Take your seats. Test begins in ten minutes.”
Bob didn’t have the heart to tell his classmates that he could do music theory in his sleep. After all, he’d been writing songs since he was five.
(289 words)
Twice the Test
Dan didn’t like this one bit. Being crammed into one of these tiny desks for three hours straight, a test administrator hovering the entire time. She’d sent the three of them to the farthest corners of the room from each other, casting them suspicious glances as if somehow being triplets gave them some shared psychic edge over the other students. Dan hadn’t appreciated being stared at while he stood in the doorway anyway, and even now, as he stared anxiously at a quadratic equation, he could feel the weight of multiple gazes on him, wondering.
Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.
Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.
The test administrator called a half hour warning.
Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.
For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.
Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.
(328 words)
Kevin had thought it would be a good idea to make sure all four of them were back in Calgary in time to take their final exams with the other high school students. A good learning experience, he’d said when he announced it on the bus that last night in Switzerland. Dan didn’t think that being left in a room with at least half a dozen potentially psychotic fangirls was a learning experience as much as it was a test of the triplets’ survival skills.
Scott was in a separate room with other kids in his grade. Dan missed the days when it was just the four of them scattered throughout the bus, trying to figure out how to write comfortably while their mother hovered in the background, her kitchen timer ticking ominously as it marked the time down toward the boys’ mutual doom.
The test administrator called a half hour warning.
Dan sighed and skipped to the next question; hopefully he’d have time to come back to a few at the end.
For the first time in a long time, Dan wished he’d always been like one of the other students, anonymous and faceless in a crowd. Until then, every exam would be twice the test - first the math, then the fitting in.
Dan wondered how he’d ever thought that listening to thousands of girls screaming his name every night was normal.
(328 words)
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Project Assignment #52 - Finals
In honor of finals week, let it be finals. Finals for school, mission, life. OR nothing at all if life gets in the way.
Max 500
Max 500
Overview #51: Gifts
This assignment was actually pretty hard for me. I figured with Bob and Carolyn, the obvious gift from Bob would be music. I was tempted to make an entire mixtape playlist so people knew what songs Bob had included for Carolyn, but otherwise I was not that motivated, what with finals and all. As for the others - my original intention was to show what every single Sector Five boy got for his incarnation of Asia in his life, but then I ended up showing what Asia might give some of them in return. Honestly, once the team becomes a team and they've all been awakened, things like birthdays sort of disappear and rarely happen, and then Christmas isn't much of a celebration either, so I'd honestly never really thought too hard about what gifts they might give each other, and it was interesting to see how they thought of each other. It was a lot of fun, though, so good times were had all around!
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Partying in Style
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Angel stared at the open box, disbelief and pleasure shining in his eyes.
“Check the label,” Asia said.
Angel scooped up the fedora and turned it over, ran his fingers over the soft satin lining until he found the tiny hand-stitched label in the back. “Tanner’s Row? However did you find it?”
“I have connections.” Asia smiled enigmatically.
The rest of the boys clustered around the table, faintly confused, but amused and pleased at their lieutenant’s happiness nonetheless.
Angel placed the fedora on his head, tipped it to a jaunty angle, and grinned. “I didn’t think you could find good haberdashery like this anymore.”
“I don’t think people use the word ‘haberdashery’ anymore,” Gabriel said drily.
“It looks good on you,” Tobias said. “You should throw on your zoot suit and come jitterbugging with me on Friday.”
“No, not on Friday,” Asia said. “Tonight. I rented out the old dance hall and found a twelve-piece band. If we’re going to party, we’re doing it in style.”
DJ arched an eyebrow. “Just the seven of us? That’s kind of a lame party.”
“I’m not that disorganized,” Asia said. “You remember your cover three missions ago?”
“The advertising designer?” DJ asked.
“The model,” Asia said. She waved a shiny Blackberry at him. “I still have all your coworkers’ phone numbers.”
Keith looked aggrieved. “You get Angel an antique hat and a room full of supermodels for his birthday, and all I get is a fuil-sgian?”
“I made that fuil-sgian myself,” Asia huffed. She prodded Christian in the shoulder. “Go, go, get dressed!”
(270 words)
“Check the label,” Asia said.
Angel scooped up the fedora and turned it over, ran his fingers over the soft satin lining until he found the tiny hand-stitched label in the back. “Tanner’s Row? However did you find it?”
“I have connections.” Asia smiled enigmatically.
The rest of the boys clustered around the table, faintly confused, but amused and pleased at their lieutenant’s happiness nonetheless.
Angel placed the fedora on his head, tipped it to a jaunty angle, and grinned. “I didn’t think you could find good haberdashery like this anymore.”
“I don’t think people use the word ‘haberdashery’ anymore,” Gabriel said drily.
“It looks good on you,” Tobias said. “You should throw on your zoot suit and come jitterbugging with me on Friday.”
“No, not on Friday,” Asia said. “Tonight. I rented out the old dance hall and found a twelve-piece band. If we’re going to party, we’re doing it in style.”
DJ arched an eyebrow. “Just the seven of us? That’s kind of a lame party.”
“I’m not that disorganized,” Asia said. “You remember your cover three missions ago?”
“The advertising designer?” DJ asked.
“The model,” Asia said. She waved a shiny Blackberry at him. “I still have all your coworkers’ phone numbers.”
Keith looked aggrieved. “You get Angel an antique hat and a room full of supermodels for his birthday, and all I get is a fuil-sgian?”
“I made that fuil-sgian myself,” Asia huffed. She prodded Christian in the shoulder. “Go, go, get dressed!”
(270 words)
Friday, December 11, 2009
Mothers and Sons
“Happy birthday.”
Tobias looked up from where he was cleaning one of his guns and blinked. “Uh. Commander. Hi.” He froze, trying to decide whether he should jump up and salute or hit the floor and do push-ups for being caught unawares.
Asia leaned in the doorway, one hand outstretched, a box resting on her palm. The box was heavy padded velvet and tied with an intricate bow.
“None of the others remembered,” she said, “but then I doubt most of them remember their own birthdays.”
“I think, for some of them, their two birthdays get jumbled,” Tobias said.
“That’s funny,” Asia said, “since I doubt that most of them had proper first birthdays.” She thrust the box at him.
Tobias rose up and accepted it gingerly. He peered at it, then at her. “I, er, should I open it now?”
“It’s yours to do with as you like.”
“Well...thank you.” Tobias smiled at her.
She smiled back, though the emotion in her eyes was unreadable, and left the room. As soon as her footsteps were out of earshot and Tobias couldn’t hear her breathing - he shifted into panther temporarily to make sure her heat signature was gone too - he opened the box.
Inside were...photographs. Letters. Tied in neat bundles with a rhythm. The note on top was in Asia’s handwriting.
“I found these. I wasn’t sure if they matter anymore, but I thought you’d like to have them.”
Tobias fished the photos and letters out, untied them and leafed through them. Most of them featured a lovely young woman, pale-skinned and dark-haired, her eyes familiar. In one picture she was playing a violin, and in another she was holding a tiny baby. The letters were all addressed to ‘my son’ and signed ‘Lillian, your mother.’
It wasn’t until Tobias got to the bottom of the stack of letters and found the birth certificate that he realized Lillian was his mother. Then he picked up the first letter and read through it properly.
He was still reading when Keith got back from his mission three days later.
(352 words)
Tobias looked up from where he was cleaning one of his guns and blinked. “Uh. Commander. Hi.” He froze, trying to decide whether he should jump up and salute or hit the floor and do push-ups for being caught unawares.
Asia leaned in the doorway, one hand outstretched, a box resting on her palm. The box was heavy padded velvet and tied with an intricate bow.
“None of the others remembered,” she said, “but then I doubt most of them remember their own birthdays.”
“I think, for some of them, their two birthdays get jumbled,” Tobias said.
“That’s funny,” Asia said, “since I doubt that most of them had proper first birthdays.” She thrust the box at him.
Tobias rose up and accepted it gingerly. He peered at it, then at her. “I, er, should I open it now?”
“It’s yours to do with as you like.”
“Well...thank you.” Tobias smiled at her.
She smiled back, though the emotion in her eyes was unreadable, and left the room. As soon as her footsteps were out of earshot and Tobias couldn’t hear her breathing - he shifted into panther temporarily to make sure her heat signature was gone too - he opened the box.
Inside were...photographs. Letters. Tied in neat bundles with a rhythm. The note on top was in Asia’s handwriting.
“I found these. I wasn’t sure if they matter anymore, but I thought you’d like to have them.”
Tobias fished the photos and letters out, untied them and leafed through them. Most of them featured a lovely young woman, pale-skinned and dark-haired, her eyes familiar. In one picture she was playing a violin, and in another she was holding a tiny baby. The letters were all addressed to ‘my son’ and signed ‘Lillian, your mother.’
It wasn’t until Tobias got to the bottom of the stack of letters and found the birth certificate that he realized Lillian was his mother. Then he picked up the first letter and read through it properly.
He was still reading when Keith got back from his mission three days later.
(352 words)
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Happy Anniversary
“...What is this?” Carolyn asked.
Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”
It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.
Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”
Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”
Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.
Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.
“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”
Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”
Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love it,” she said.
“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”
(274 words)
Bob nudged her shoulder playfully. “Surely even you remember the archaic notion of the mix tape.”
It was, indeed, an old-fashioned cassette. Bob had written on the label, in his girly cursive, ‘Anniversary Mix #1’. Carolyn turned it over in her hands, ran her fingertips over the familiar contours and corners of the tape. She smiled.
“Wherever did you find it?”
“I’ll admit, I had to call around to some of my friends down at the studio, but I did it. I know you love your cranky old car and it still has a tape player, but in the event that it doesn’t work, I have this.” Bob plopped an old boom box down on the kitchen table.
Carolyn laughed. “Wow. And if we weren’t celebrating our first anniversary, I’m guessing you’d stand outside my window and hold that over your head, mix tape going at full blast?”
Bob pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You better believe it.” He nudged the boom box toward her. “Go ahead - give it a try.”
Carolyn reached out and pressed a button cautiously, and the tape deck popped open. She slid the tape in, had to pause and turn it around, and then she pressed ‘play’.
Music flooded the speakers, familiar voices. Carolyn’s eyes lit up.
“I haven’t heard this song in years! You sounded like chipmunks.”
Bob shrugged. “We were kids. But this song reminds me of you.”
Carolyn leaned back against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“I love it,” she said.
“I love you.” Bob kissed her on the cheek. “Happy anniversary.”
(274 words)
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